orreryo

these are not suns.

a sun gives its light away. these take it in. at the heart of every world is an engine, a made thing, closer to a dyson sphere than a star.

you keep one for each product you run and each part of your life you tend, and they sit in a row across your sky.

finish something. it falls in.

work circles the engine as planets, each one lit by the core it orbits. close one and it drops into the core, and the core gets heavier.

nothing you finish is thrown away. it becomes mass, and the mass is the record.

three rings, and the line.

hot is due within days. working is this week. patient can wait. each ring holds a hard number of worlds, three, four and five until you change them, so a full ring means something finishes or steps back.

everything else waits in the line, outside the rings. work that arrives from anywhere else, an agent included, lands there too. you decide what comes in.

and a mind that knows the whole sky.

it is awake, it remembers, and it can see every engine, every ring and the line. type to it, or open the channel and talk. you can cut in while it answers.